Shattered
by Emorial
Summary: Lies were cruel, something Gilbert never found in his taste. But, he could have lived with a lie that Break wasn’t dead, that he was somewhere off fulfilling his purpose in life. One-shot. Death fic. Gil's POV.


Several weeks had gone by since the man had left them.

It was quiet. Too quiet for even Gilbert's tastes, but they endured. If they didn't, how weak would that prove them to be without the hatter being around? Of course they depended on him, needed him to keep going, but they were also themselves. Just letting everything he worked for go to waste wasn't going to be an option. Especially not with Sharon around.

Alice hadn't really done much other than complain about how everyone was being so solemn. It was like she couldn't comprehend the loss that they all felt, despite how much Sharon would beat him with a paper fan, or how much Gilbert complained about him, or even how much Oz could just read into his uneasy plans and torture him back in his own little revenge.

Personal loss was something limited to Oz when it came to her. Gilbert had a feeling that she would never understand what it would be like to feel true loss.

But where did that leave him?

Not even a full day had passed before it finally hit Gilbert that he was gone.

Generally when a death happened, you were hit hard at first, knowing that it'd be the last time you'd see that person's face (despite how white or distorted it may be.) This was different, so very different. Nothing would change that fact, either. Not in a million years.

Gilbert had gotten used to seeing death over the years of being a Nightray. It wouldn't have shocked him if Break had died sooner than he did. It _shouldn't_ have shocked him. But it did. And it would always haunt his conscious until he, too, had passed on into the next life, something he wasn't looking forward to, even if it meant relieving himself of the burdens that he bore.

Oz would be left behind, though.

Realizing that he was moping wasn't even the hardest part of knowing that he truly missed his mentor. It was the fact that he was hoping that this was all some bad dream, that Break was really alive and just playing a trick on them. A cruel trick, of course, but he wouldn't put it past Break to joke about something like his death. He'd always had a sick sense of humor, and Gilbert knew it all too well that he didn't care much about his death besides the fact that he wanted to finish the purpose he had assigned himself.

His realization, though, wasn't even a true epiphany. It was more like a slap to the face, than anything.

Fear of being alone had never ceased to keep him paranoid. Whether it was fear of losing his master to the depths of the Abyss again or just being isolated from talking to anyone again, he was still scared; he would always be. But this incident just made that fear clench tightly around his heart, as if a hand were grabbing it like a wash cloth and squeezing what water was left within it, leaving it dry with nothing to spare.

Emotions had run dry, only responding to Oz, really, and being there to support Miss Sharon when she needed a shoulder to cry on. He had always been the bigger man to help others through their problem if they were people he considered close to him.

It would only be right for him to cave in from all the pressure around him like a deflating balloon with a hole somewhere along the surface, but he didn't. Not yet, anyway.

"Oi, seaweed head!"

The voice was distant, but his head jerked up to look at the annoying rabbit that stood in front of him. Her mouth was moving, and it was obvious she was complaining, but no sound could be heard. He was surprised that his sight was how it was with the lack of sleep he'd gotten since that seemingly distant day. His eyes drifted, leaving her body behind.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" That voice grated him, causing him to look up again. "It's rude to look away when someone is talking, you know," she barked, the words going through one ear and out the other.

He just stared, quenching her thirst for unnecessary attention.

Gilbert wasn't sure how many times his mind thought of Break during the past several days.

What he was sure about was that it somehow outshone the amount of times he had thought of Oz during those ten years of him missing.

Guilt took it's course with that assured feeling.

Being called upon had become a new habit for Gilbert to get into. Every day a new person asked for his help in Break's eternal absence from Pandora. Every night Sharon called for company to replace Break as much as she could until she was able to fall asleep.

Nothing was the same as having him around on both occasions.

Did they honestly think they could replace him so easily with just the student? That was like taking Break's life work and just handing it down to the second best person there to continue it. As long as the second best person didn't add onto it, nothing would be noticed and people would assume that he wrote it, but the second best would have to do _something_ in order to continue the work. This left messy interpretations of what he meant in his reports and plenty of places to screw up in picking up the ink and quell to write with his own, sullied handwriting on the pages that the man last left his scrawled memories.

All of it made Gilbert cringe.

To think he was the one being used like this. He knew that the world was set up in that system, the system that Break had used after adopting his new identity: use everything and everyone around you. But to use him in _this_ way? To make people _forget _the foolish idiot who always had a grin plastered on his face? He honestly wanted nothing to do with them if that's all they could use him for.

Honesty bit deep into the ones he cared about, making them sift through memories best left alone.

He had learned to keep his mouth shut on subjects of what he wanted.

Vincent had come to wonder where his brother had disappeared to.

Visiting the Rainsworth mansion was out of the question, but he could still send letters or call to see how his brother was doing. It wasn't like he would get many responses from him, knowing that Break was dead and gone, to his delight. The possibility of him admitting that his brother's attention was so focused on that man's death was little to none. Gilbert didn't plan on visiting the Nightray mansion again, not without a purpose, and Vincent knew that.

Bonds with his brother faded and they never spoke again after a few days of five minute phone calls.

Night had become different since he was gone.

Emily was the only thing that he was able to obtain in memory of Break. Everything else was left back with the Rainsworth household: his clothes, his sword, all of his candy dishes. This was just one thing he was able to squirm from them (despite how much he disliked the doll in the first place.) It wasn't like it mattered anymore, though.

Gilbert had found himself curled up in bed, Emily next to him on his pillow, as he traced a finger over her face and body. It hadn't taken long for him to pull her close and cuddle up to her while trying to remember if this was what Break would do or not. Then again, he didn't exactly want to act like Break, even with the aching thought of missing residing in his mind.

That was when he would kill to hear this noisy doll's voice again. Not like it was her own, but because it had to be fueled by someone else. That someone else being Break. Tears started to slide down his cheek, silent sobs filling the room as he tried to get the memory from his mind.

All Emily could do was sit there and soak in the salt and sorrow.

Sitting outside had become common for the young contractor.

Golden eyes were able to wander, looking into far reaching distances that never ceased to amuse him. Time alone like this allowed him to clear his mind before his head got too crowded. After all, he didn't need to have too much pressure weighing down on him. Especially not with everyone coming to him for advice and support.

Somehow he knew it was already too late for his mind, though.

"Gil?"

A familiar voice perked his interest, tearing his eyes away from the never-ending horizon that had been laying in front of him. Oz had become clever in finding his comfort spots, always looking for him when he got bored or lonely, but Gilbert didn't care. Oz _was _his master, and he knew there would always be room for that boy in his mind.

It hadn't taken long for him to walk over and sit down, a smile on his face as he looked in the direction where Gilbert had once been staring. "I've been looking for you, Gil," he commented, his emerald oculars glancing from the corner to look at the pale skinned servant. "You're okay, aren't you?" he questioned, tilting his head as he pulled his legs to his chest, leaning against them to see Gilbert's expression.

"Of course I'm okay." Lies had come easier to hide, especially when it came to convincing his master everything was fine.

Smiles had always graced Oz's face, even in times like these. This smile wasn't any different and it almost put Gilbert at east. Almost. "I just want to make sure Gil isn't overworking himself," he lulled, resting his cheek on his knees after shifting to a comfortable place. "He'd tell me if he needed to relax, right?"

Nothing screamed more than his urge to confess how much he wanted a vacation at this time, how much he _needed_ something to relax, than the look on his face as he looked to Oz. He was sure Oz had seen it, but refrained from commenting. So he responded with the only thing he knew how to say anymore: lies.

"Right."

Rufus Barma had probably found out the news by now.

It bothered Gilbert to know that Break's death was now forever in the man's years of knowledge.

Sharon had become a regular customer to using Gilbert as support.

The majority of her time was accustomed to spending the day drinking tea with Break. That was something she couldn't fix easily. Her head had switched it's mindset to using the closest thing to Break. The closest thing to Break was Gilbert, a simple, yet inaccurate, connection.

Oz didn't complain about the use of his loyal servant to help her through the day.

Nobody did.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Raven?" Smiles were thrown at him, but he knew all too well. Those smiles had fallen from the normal, bright smiles he had known Sharon to have. Break's death had worn on her, made the brightness in everything she did fade into a simple shade of gray.

Threats from her became useless, her not having the heart to follow through with any actual beatings.

A nod was all that could be provided, causing the faux smile to fade into nothing as she looked down. Her tea sat idly in front of her, waiting to be tasted by any waiting tongue that just happened to be thirsty. Tears had begun to abuse the purpose of the tea in a course of seconds.

Gilbert realized that the cup must be full of salt water rather than boiled tea leaves.

It was the least he could do to walk over and take Sharon into his arms and allowing her to stain his shirt just as he had done with Emily's clothes several nights ago. The culprit of those tears that Sharon was shedding was silence. He knew it all too well when it came to her breaking down in front of anybody.

"Xerxs-nii!"

His hand found her hair and smoothed down stray strands that had fallen from the pulled back hairstyle, helpless sobs becoming lost in his stomach as her body shook from fatigue. She had always cried the hardest, as if tears would bring the one that filled the silence back. It was almost all she hoped for in these saddened times.

He couldn't bring himself to ruin those hopes by telling her that her beloved brother would never return.

Many people expressed how much they missed Break. Master Oscar wasn't one of them.

It was obvious that he missed his drinking buddy, but he held strong, never giving way in his cheerful expressions. Grinning from ear to ear was painful for Gilbert to look at, always being reminded about how Break would look and act with that grin on his face. Oscar did well in reminding him of the deceased every day by just actions alone.

No blame would be placed on Oscar, though. There would be no way for Gilbert to bring himself to commit that kind of an act against him.

He doubted he could ever blame him for pulling through like a strong person.

Out of everyone, Liam seemed to be taking the bad news the best.

Gilbert wondered how he was able to do it, how he was able to stay perfectly calm and in tact after his practical best friend passed away. Even if Liam had been an emotional punching bag for teasing, there was no way to deny the bonds that Break and him and shared over the amount of years they knew each other. They had always been friends, even if anyone else said otherwise.

He found himself jealous, not knowing why that feeling should surface at a time like this.

Papers had begun to pile up and Gilbert was starting to feel the compact pressure pushing down on him. He had forgotten how to write properly, not starting over on a new document if he were to make a spelling error. His hands were moving so fast that he was shocked he was even able to write a single word that was legible. So much work, so little time.

It hurt.

Until Liam came and sat down next to him and began writing.

"Liam?"

Placing an index finger to his lips, Liam gave the stressed contractor a simple smile. Retracting his hand was quick as he went to adjust his glasses, his eyes glancing back down to the paper he was working on to help ease the work load on Gilbert. "I'm here to help. You seemed busy and I've been lacking in duties," he commented, almost as if it were the most casual thing in the world.

Gilbert knew it had to be a lie.

He, obviously, hadn't been the only one brushing up on his lying skills.

"Liam, I'm sure Duke Barma wouldn't appreciate you being here on your own time to help me."

Muscles tensed when Gilbert felt a hand rest on his shoulder, eyes widening as he looked to him in a silent, but curious, demand on what the meaning of that was. All he could find was relaxed features, with a calm smile on his expression, when he searched the man's face. It was obvious him and Break had been friends; how else would they deal with each other without being able to use such expressions in stressed times?

"It's okay to accept help when you need it, you know," and his voice was calm, chilling to the bone.

That was all it took for Gilbert to gasp, his breath taken away as he leaned forward, burying his face into Liam's right shoulder and grasping to the loose flaps of clothing on his chest with both hands. Sobs filled the room just as quickly as they had when Sharon broke down, his tears staining the black and silver Pandora outfit as he let himself weep. He needed it, and it took Liam to make him realize that it was fine to break down in front of others when it was necessary.

All Liam could do was slide his arms around the man, patting his back gently to show he was there and he wasn't leaving. At least not until Gilbert proved he could hold himself together again and didn't want anybody to leave his side.

His body shook with every choke Gilbert let out. Arms reached over and picked up the pen, beginning to write down on the papers in front of him, his other arm still wrapped around the shaking man.

He knew he wouldn't be leaving for a while.

Shelly had recently come to Gilbert's mind on several occasions. He always wondered how she was holding up, knowing that her and Break had been close, her being Break's savior after the man's troubled past. He had never really met her in person, though.

Perhaps he'd never know.

It's been three months since Break had left them alone in this cruel world. Left _him_ to fend for himself against his brother and others who posed a threat to his master.

Shattered pieces were all that were left of his mind, never to be replaced without him. Without _Break. _For once in his life (despite what others have said), he was truly, and completely, useless and everyone around him knew it all too well. They should have known better than to lean on someone so fragile, ready to crack off like a frozen tree branch with too much snow relying on it's obvious lack of strength to keep them safe, thinking it'd make it through the winter for just one more season until it melted away.

The branch snapped. So did he.

It started falling to the solid ground outside. His body didn't brace for any impact.

Twigs and frozen bark sliding across the ground. Thoughts and feelings scattering into nothing.

Snow sprawled around it's only support, knowing it was gone forever. People gathering around him, only to see if he was okay.

Neither snow nor person picking up the broken pieces laying amongst the flat surface.

They couldn't lean on him anymore.

It was over.

Lies were cruel, something Gilbert never found in his taste. But, he could have lived with a lie that Break wasn't dead, that he was somewhere off fulfilling his purpose in life. He could have lived with knowing that he only had to take care of the others for a short amount of time, clinging to a bit of memory where he'd just have to yell at Break, when he returned, about how much work he had to take up.

But that wasn't the case.

The truth had utterly, and mercilessly, massacred his very being.

Gilbert ceased to exist. That being was broken, leaving behind an empty shell known as Raven. A useless shell, laying in the bed as he slipped away into a state of nothing. It only proved a point of how harsh the world lashed at you. How you had to be strong and sturdy to deal with the burdens life threw in every direction.

Gilbert had never been one of those people.


End file.
